Birthday Boy
by Olive Drab
Summary: Oneshot.  A young Private asks for help.


**Birthday Boy**

The fog had invaded the camp during the previous night, silently rolling and creeping down from the hills and smothering the 4077th like a damp blanket. It got thicker as the day went on, sneaking clammy fingers into every corner and sucking the heat and the humour out of everyone. People went outside only if they absolutely had to, stumbling and groping their way around, hardly able to see their own feet. At times a bobbing, disembodied halo of light glimpsed through the cloud was the only proof that someone else was alive in the world. In the late afternoon, word came that the last chopper to leave the front before everything was grounded had crashed into a hillside, killing the pilot and the two wounded men he had been transporting. By the time darkness fell - not that it had ever got really light - the general mood was as miserable as the weather.

After a dinner surrounded by gloomy faces and monosyllabic conversation, Father Mulcahy decided to act, and suggested a cocoa and bingo evening "to warm body and soul". His idea was seized upon with desperate enthusiasm, and pretty soon the thing snowballed into a riotous, no-holds-barred games night, with the chill outside all but forgotten in the heat of fierce competition. Father Mulcahy watched over everything with a benevolent smile and a soft touch, dispensing cocoa and biscuits and issuing mild reprimands when the rule-bending got too blatant.

"Father, this was a great idea," said Hawkeye, waving a half-eaten cookie at the gathering. "Our spirits are soaring and our blues are banished. I wouldn't have believed it possible without the application of alcohol. I salute you." He raised his mug.

"Perhaps I would get better audience numbers if I served refreshments on a Sunday morning," Mulcahy said wistfully, but there was a satisfied twinkle in his eye as he went off to watch a group of nurses throwing hoops over pegs set into the ground.

"Father Mulcahy looks pleased with himself," said BJ, wandering over to join Hawkeye. "Maybe we should make him our permanent morale officer."

"Never mind morale," said Hawkeye. "What is this strange power he has over women?"

BJ followed his friend's envious gaze and saw Mulcahy chatting with Lieutenant Helen Miller, a new arrival who had been gently rejecting Hawkeye's advances for the past week. "I think it has something to do with taking certain vows," he said. "I also think your head would explode if the word 'celibacy' ever passed your lips."

"It's not my head I'm concerned with." Hawkeye said. "Hey, speaking of danger to life, limb and other appendages, did everyone survive Radar's darts match?"

"Yeah – most people figured out pretty fast that the safest place to stand was in a direct line between Radar and the board."

Hawkeye finished his cookie and sucked chocolate off each finger in turn, savouring the moment, then winced as a delighted shriek from the table behind him grazed his eardrums. The 4077th's Head Nurse had claimed another victim. "Don't tell Father Mulcahy, but I'm going to need something stronger than cocoa if I have a hope of beating Margaret at backgammon," he muttered. "That woman shows no mercy. I'm going back to the Swamp for a discreet pick-me-up before the showdown."

"I'll go with you, although personally I think she'll still wipe the floor with you," said BJ. He laughed at Hawkeye's indignant face and slapped him on the shoulder. "But never fear - you'll always be the undisputed King of Charades. Your _Grapes of Wrath_ will surely go down in history."

They pulled on their coats and scarves and walked out into a silent, grey world. "I think it's getting worse," said BJ, turning up his collar and shivering. "It's like being eaten alive." He looked over his shoulder, but the mess tent had vanished.

"I though you'd be used to this, living in San Francisco," said Hawkeye as they walked across the compound. "Don't they lose that bridge of yours for days at a time?"

"This is different – it even smells different. Are we even going in the right direction?"

They were discussing whether it would be practical to construct a lighthouse on the edge of the camp when Hawkeye saw something moving just ahead of them. "Who's that?" he called.

"Are you doctors?" An indistinct figure emerged from the fog. "Please, my friend's hurt – can you help me?"

"Never mind help you, I can't even see you," said Hawkeye as he opened the door to the Swamp. "Come on in."

The Private blinked as he came into the light. His clothes and dark brown hair were covered with fine water droplets. He was a head shorter than both the doctors but trim and athletic looking, and to BJ he appeared about thirteen years old.

"Are you doctors?" he repeated, his eyes taking in the Hawaiian shirt Hawkeye wore beneath his jacket and the bright yellow hat, complete with earflaps, which BJ's wife had knitted for him.

BJ pulled off his headgear. "Yeah, we're doctors. We know where all the bits go and what most of them are called. I'm BJ, this is Hawkeye….."

The young man interrupted, talking at breakneck speed.

"We were at the back of the convoy, and we somehow lost sight of the jeep in front. I guess we took a wrong turn, or missed a turn or something. Then the fog got worse and we didn't see a corner, and the next thing I know we've driven off the road. We hit a rock and…. "

"Hey, slow down." Hawkeye took him by the arm and led him over to a chair. "What's your name? I guess you walked right past our sentries." He went over to the stove and checked the coffee pot, sniffing the contents tentatively.

"Wilson. Private Nick Wilson. I didn't see any sentries. Listen, I……"

"First things first," said BJ, crouching in front of the boy. "Are you hurt at all?"

"No, I'm fine." Hawkeye handed him some coffee and he took a mouthful. "Mmm, that's good," he sighed, wrapping his gloved hands around the mug. The hot drink seemed to calm him, and he sat back in the chair.

"How long have you been walking?" asked Hawkeye, rummaging about for a clean towel.

"I dunno – it's only two or three miles." Wilson waved a hand back in the direction he'd come from. "I knew if I followed the road I'd come to somewhere eventually. I couldn't believe my luck when I realised this was a MASH unit." He took the offered towel and rubbed at his face and hair.

"So you went off the road," prompted Hawkeye. "What then? How badly is your friend hurt?"

Wilson thought for a moment, frowning. "It was weird after we crashed," he said. "It was so quiet. Then I saw Joe lying across the hood. I didn't want to move him too much, but I could see blood on his face. His leg looked pretty bad too, but I couldn't see properly." He looked up at them. "I didn't know whether to stay with him or go for help. It was like I was being pulled in two directions at once. What if he woke up and I'm not there? What if he's dying alone out there?"

"You did the right thing," said BJ, touching his shoulder briefly before getting to his feet. "We'll go find your friend. But you should stay here and get properly checked out."

The young man shook his head, agitated. "No, you won't find the place without me – the jeep went right off the road. You could drive right past it and never know. Please!"

BJ and Hawkeye exchanged a glance and a nod, and the decision was made.

"I'll get hold of a jeep," said BJ, snatching up his medical bag.

"Grab a stretcher and a couple of good flashlights too," Hawkeye said. "I'll make sure someone knows where we've gone." He threw a dry coat at Wilson. "You finish your coffee, take off that wet jacket and put this on. Don't worry, we won't leave without you."

BJ turned at the door. He still couldn't believe how young this kid looked.

"Wilson, how old are you?" he said.

The Private shrugged and smiled ruefully, his boyish face looking even younger beneath tousled dark hair. "I get that all the time. I know I look younger than I am, but the truth is….." He checked his watch …. "I turned eighteen about eleven minutes ago."

"Well, congratulations," smiled BJ. "When we get back, you're invited to a party in the mess tent. "We'll toast you in cocoa."

"I don't suppose you play backgammon, do you?" asked Hawkeye.

BJ left for the motor pool at a run and Hawkeye hurried back towards the mess tent. Halfway there he ran headlong into someone coming the other way.

"Woah there, you need to keep your speed down to a fast trot in these conditions, son," said Colonel Potter mildly as Hawkeye apologised. The Colonel looked slightly owl-eyed and unsteady, and Hawkeye suspected that more than a little bourbon had found its way into his cocoa mug.

"Colonel, there's been an accident up the road," he said quickly. "BJ and I are taking a jeep out to pick up a casualty. We won't be long."

The Colonel was instantly sober. "Need any more hands?"

"No, we can handle it." Hawkeye was impatient to be off.

"Okay, take care. Hey, am I going the right way for the latrine?"

Hawkeye was already hurrying away, but called back over his shoulder. "Just follow your nose, Colonel, and you can't go wrong."

-----------------------------------

BJ crouched forward over the wheel, frustrated at their slow pace but knowing it wouldn't help anyone if they ended up in a ditch. In some places, where the fog had collected in little dips and troughs, it simply bounced the beam of the headlights back at them so that he was effectively driving blind.

From where he sat in the back seat, Hawkeye could see the strain in both BJ and Wilson as they peered ahead into the darkness. He decided to ease the tension a little.

"As a renowned expert in military tactics, I have to say I'm surprised that there isn't a major offensive underway," he said casually. "In this weather you could walk right up to the other guys' lines and nobody would see you coming. Of course, you'd probably end up shooting at your own troops, but that's a minor inconvenience when there's territory to be won – ask any General." He paused, sensing the smile on BJ's face even though he couldn't see it. "I really should be in charge of these things. I obviously have untapped talent."

Wilson twisted round in his seat and to give Hawkeye a bemused look. "Tell me you're not serious," he said, and Hawkeye raised his eyebrows and smiled at him, innocent as a two-year-old caught stealing candy.

BJ laughed, but didn't take his eyes from what he could see of the road. "Don't mind him," he said to Wilson. "He gets a bit out of control if we let him have too many cookies before bedtime. Hawkeye, the US Army should thank its lucky stars you're in surgery and not strategy," he added. "Anyone with any sense will be staying right where they are tonight. Which just proves how much sense we have, I guess."

"What were you doing out here anyway, Wilson?" asked Hawkeye.

Wilson was careful to keep half an eye on their surroundings as he replied. "Part of the road up near the front collapsed in a landslide and we were sent to fix it. We had all the gear in four or five trucks. Pity we didn't have a working radio, at least not in our jeep."

"You're an engineer, then?" asked BJ.

"Yeah, that's right – training to be one, at least." He shrugged. "It's not glamorous, and I'm never going to save a life like you guys, but I figure if I can get through this without taking a life either then I'll have done okay."

"That's a sound philosophy," said Hawkeye. "And what you do may not be glamorous, but don't let anyone tell you it's not important. You guys are like our company clerk. You keep things running smoothly and nobody thanks you, nobody notices what you do, but they soon notice if it's not done."

Wilson nodded thoughtfully. "I guess that's true, although I'm just starting out really. Joe's kind of helping me along. He's great – he calls me Nicky the Kid." He frowned, chewing his lip. "God, I hope he's okay."

Hawkeye was always careful about making promises he might not be able to keep. "And when you get home, what then?" he asked.

Wilson's eyes lit up. "Oh, I can't wait to get back," he said. "I mean, I'm learning a lot here, and the guys are great, but I want to go to college, to learn more about designing and building things - maybe be an architect." He grinned. "I also want to meet girls, drive fast cars and play lots of tennis."

He turned to face forward again and Hawkeye smiled wryly at the back of his head. _Look at this kid, grabbing whatever life can throw at him and still wanting more_, he thought. _He sees the good in everything and everyone. When did I get so cynical and tired – and so goddamn old?_

Wilson grabbed BJ's arm, jerking Hawkeye out of his gloomy reverie. "Stop! Stop - it's down there."

BJ pulled over, pointing the front of the jeep off the road at an angle so the headlights shone down a steep embankment. At the foot of the slope, about thirty feet away, they could barely make out a dark shape.

Hawkeye jumped from the jeep, clicked on his flashlight and stared as the beam shone onto a strained, chalk-white face. "Wilson? Hey, Nick! Are you okay?"

"Yeah, fine," but he sounded distant and vague.

Hawkeye cursed himself for not doing a proper examination back at the camp. "Are you sure you didn't hit your head?" he said, holding the flashlight closer to see how Wilson's eyes reacted. "Follow my finger," he said, passing it slowly back and forth in front of the pale face, but his hand was pushed away.

"I'm fine," said Wilson. "Don't worry about me. You need to help Joe."

Hawkeye glanced down the slope, knowing there was a man down there in urgent need of help. He nodded reluctantly. "Okay, we'll see to him. You stay here and rest. You've done your bit. We'll call if we need you."

"Yeah, I've done my bit." Wilson slumped back into his seat and closed his eyes

Hawkeye joined BJ at roadside. "When we get back, I'm going to check that kid over properly," he said, looking back over his shoulder. "There's something not right there."

BJ tucked the stretcher under his arm and hooked his bag over a shoulder. "He's been through a lot; first the crash, seeing his friend hurt, then walking out of here for help. He's been running on adrenaline and now it's catching up with him. Maybe he's simply exhausted. Anyway, he was right – we'd have driven right past this place if he hadn't been with us."

"Yeah." Concern nagged at Hawkeye but he forced his attention back to the matter in hand, at least for the time being.

They left the jeep's lights on to give themselves as much illumination as possible and edged their way carefully down the embankment, tripping over roots and slipping in mud and wet leaves. They found the jeep as Wilson had described, its front end buckled and distorted where it had collided with a large boulder. The impact had thrown the driver forward so that his torso lay across the hood. BJ leaned over the man and carefully lifted his head, while Hawkeye supported his neck with one hand and shone the flashlight for BJ with the other.

"There's a bad laceration just above the right eye," said BJ. "It's hard to tell exactly what the damage is in this light."

They gently lowered the man's head and Hawkeye shone his flashlight down into the jeep, bending forward to peer into the awkward angle of the footwell. "Looks like his legs got caught as he was thrown forward. There's certainly a break to the upper leg on the right, and the left doesn't look good either. My guess is he broke a few ribs on the steering wheel, and it's likely there's some internal damage too, but we won't know for sure until we get him back."

"Lucky for him he'll be out cold when we lift him out," said BJ grimly.

They freed the man from the wrecked jeep as gently as possible and laid him on the stretcher. Hawkeye knelt down to examine him more closely. "Yeah, there's a break here on the right. Left ankle too, and probably the knee as well. He won't be doing the tango for a while."

"I'm worried about this head wound," said BJ as they made what running repairs they could. "Let's get him up to the jeep."

Getting back up to the road proved to be easier said than done. They had to move sideways to keep the stretcher level between them, which meant they were unable to use their hands to climb. With the fog, the dark and the damp, they seemed to be slipping back faster than they were climbing up, and once they came dangerously close to spilling the injured soldier off the stretcher. As they paused to catch their breath and their balance, Hawkeye shouted up the slope. "Hey, Wilson! We could do with a hand down here!"

The only reply was their own harsh breathing. "Maybe he can't hear us," said BJ. "This damn fog. Can't see properly, can't hear properly…… come on, let's get going."

They were wet and filthy when they eventually reached the road, to find their jeep empty.

"Where the hell's he gone?" panted BJ as they lifted the stretcher, positioning it carefully across the back of the jeep.

Hawkeye peered into the fog anxiously, wiping his hands on his jacket. "He must have wandered off. I'm still worried he's got an injury he's not letting on about."

They called for a couple of minutes, walking a little way up and down the road.

"Damn him," said Hawkeye finally. "We need to get this man back to camp, or this whole thing will have been for nothing. Stay with him – I'll see if Wilson went down there. If we can't find him, we'll just have to send someone back when it gets light."

He disappeared into the darkness and BJ tucked a blanket around the man on the stretcher. He was beginning to wish he had one too – it seemed to be getting colder by the minute. He wrapped his arms around his body and stamped his feet to warm them, then jumped as a voice came from below.

"Beej, I need you to come down here." Hawkeye's voice sounded strange, distorted by the fog.

BJ was loathe to leave the injured soldier, but he scrambled down the slope once more. Halfway down he lost his footing and started to slide. He put out a hand to steady himself and lost his grip on the flashlight, watching helplessly as the beam bounced twice before coming to a stop and going out.

"Hawkeye, where are you?" he called, disorientated.

"Over here," came Hawkeye's voice from the opposite side of the jeep.

BJ fumbled his way over and came up behind Hawkeye, who was kneeling beside something. As he got closer, he realised it was a body – or at least the upper half of a body. In the shadows, BJ couldn't make out details, but he could imagine the injuries hidden beneath the wheel of the jeep only too well.

"Wilson never said there was anyone else…."

Hawkeye's voice was hollow and flat, his head still bowed over the figure on the ground. "He must have been thrown clear when they came off the road, and then the jeep ran him over." He looked up at BJ, then suddenly reached up and clasped his friend's wrist tightly. "I'm sorry, Beej," he said softly, his eyes bright with unshed tears. "I need you to see this. I can't handle this on my own." He shone his flashlight onto the young face.

The features of the crushed and twisted body were horribly, impossibly familiar.

"Hawkeye, how……" BJ took an involuntary step back as shock and fear wrapped a frozen hand around his heart. He fell to his knees next to Hawkeye, his senses spinning as he tried to comprehend what had happened.

Perhaps at the very moment of his death, Nick Wilson had walked into their camp and asked them to save his friend. He had sat in their tent drinking coffee and toweling his hair dry. He had spoken with enthusiasm about his hopes for the future as they drove out here. And later - much later - it was a small comfort to Hawkeye and BJ to realize that somehow, somewhere, Nick Wilson had celebrated his eighteenth birthday.

**------- The End ------**

_Happy Halloween, everyone (I know I'm early). Did you guess the ending?_


End file.
